[logo chimes]
[logo buzzes]
Poor wand'ring one
Though thou hast
surely strayed
Take heart of grace
Thy steps retrace
Poor wandering one
Poor wandering one
If such poor love as mine
Can help thee find
True peace of mind
I take it, it is mine
Take heart, no danger lowers
Take any heart but ours
Take any heart,
fair days will shine
Take any heart, take mine
Take heart, no danger lowers
Take any heart but ours
Take any heart,
fair days will shine
Take any heart, take mine
Ahhhh Ahhhh Ahhhh
Ahhhh
Ahhhh
[car door closes]
[gravel crunching]
[door opens]
- Go straight down.
[door closes]
- Little security device.
Alarming for genuine guests,
I know, but effective.
Oh, and CCTV,
but we don't need that, do we?
We're not going to be disturbed.
Self-locking.
You look nervous.
You're probably wondering
why I'm sitting here all alone
in the dark.
My wife's convinced
I'm a vampire.
But it's not blood,
my tipple,
it's Bloody Mary.
Sit
down.
You look like
you could do with a drink.
Vodka, but not with
tomato juice, I think.
I know the proletariat
have a horror
of anything that might
have originated in a field.
So I always keep a supply of
chemically polluted fizzy water
for a certain type of guest.
Not surprising you find the look
of that oven
a little sinister.
The design was developed
by a German company, Topf,
during a little dispute
in your grandfather's time,
sometimes referred
to as the Second World w*r.
Topf claimed that they could
reduce a human body to ash
in under 20 minutes.
I never put it to the test.
I suppose it would depend
on the stature of the person
being burned.
Not the only company
to profit from genocide,
oh no, AEG.
They supplied
the ventilation system
that delivered the Zyklon B
to the gas chamber.
Also make very good fridges.
A few of the seven deadly sins.
Just a weekend hobby.
The sculpting, that is,
not the sinning.
I won't ask you to try
and identify which is which.
I don't suppose
religious education
played a great part
in your upbringing.
All based on people who really
do deserve to be punished
for their vices.
Currently working on gluttony.
Very unpleasant journalist
who waged a campaign against me
in her Sunday column.
Spends half her time
attacking privilege
and the other half stuffing
her face in the Ivy.
She can sniff out
truffles like a pig.
I understand some lunatic's
planning to marry her.
Hope to God
they never have children,
she'd lactate balsamic vinegar.
I think...
Yes,
I think perhaps I'll put a spike
through her tongue.
Thirsty, boy?
In the days of the Raj,
if a local was hauled in
for interrogation,
before the questioning began,
they'd give him
an arrowroot biscuit.
Then, if he couldn't muster
enough spit to speak, well.
But you've got nothing
to feel guilty about, have you?
Top up?
Don't worry, she's the only
thing in here that'll be spiked.
Poisoners used
to be boiled alive.
Although, with the Tudors,
you could always escape
the death penalty
by pleading benefit of clergy.
[liquid pouring]
And all you had to do to prove
that you were clergy
was demonstrate
that you could read.
Not much use to you, I know,
but then you would be branded
on the forehead.
With a big T for thief
or M for m*rder*r and so on.
You do have a very
interesting head,
something Celtic about it.
Something of the Emerald Isle,
so it has.
And oddly familiar.
Perhaps your mother once
told me some lucky Heather.
I sometimes think
that if we provided
less dental care for the masses,
the masses would spend less time
trying to destroy
their own teeth.
I was once walking down
a back street in Marrakesh,
and I heard the most
godawful screaming.
I asked my guide
what was going on
and he pointed
to a sign in Arabic,
which he translated
as dentist son diplome.
That's French.
That's what they speak
in Morocco.
- They can do that, can they?
- Do what?
- Operate without a diploma.
That's wogs for you.
- Educated
and r*cist.
Well, well.
- I was being ironic.
- We've got a satirist.
- Thanks for the chemically
polluted fizzy water.
- Oh, that door is locked,
don't forget.
You have to exit
through the house.
And we have unfinished business.
Have I upset you?
- I suppose you blame the
adversarial system of government
for encouraging
your bad manners.
Don't members
of the Shadow cabinet
usually get recognised
by the proletariat?
- I like you.
- So long as we
understand each other.
- Oh, that's a tall order.
Nobody understands me.
- Not even your wife?
- Especially not my...
you being ironic again.
It's very disturbing meeting
someone more sarcastic
than I am.
It's like having a conversation
in double negatives.
I won't ask if they cover
double negatives
in your English lessons
at school.
- Not if you don't want
a fat lip.
- That's more like it.
The direct threat
is something I can comprehend.
- Even if you ignore it.
- Cowards die many times
before their deaths.
- The valiant never
taste of death but once.
- School production of Hamlet?
- Julius Caesar.
You should read it,
you might learn something
about politics.
- My colleagues say my manner is
already a little too theatrical.
What do you think?
- You're one of those MPs
they call colourful, aren't you?
- Oh no, no, no.
Colourful means
you support blood sports
and the death penalty,
but you wear a bow tie.
I'm a maverick.
- Someone who can
afford to take risks
because he doesn't need
a minister's salary.
Rises like
this don't come cheap.
What? You got a rich wife?
- She's probably
my biggest expense.
- Where's it from, then?
- Hard work.
Don't be deceived
by the medieval splendour.
The rest of this house
fell down long ago,
and the Victorians replaced
it with a very ugly vicarage,
so I got it at
a knock-down price.
But this undercroft
suits my purposes.
Although being grade one listed,
I can't hang anything.
- You're telling me your family
didn't have money?
- My father died in a ditch.
No more than he deserved.
He treated my mother abominably.
- You obviously believe in
an eye for an eye.
- We all commit m*rder
in our dreams.
All it takes is a little push.
But I divert such impulses
to these little darlings.
You see, I'm temperamentally
incapable of real violence.
- Here I was hoping
you'd say the opposite.
[playful music]
- I hate to disappoint you,
but I'm not into anything kinky.
- This isn't kinky.
Just
imagine I'm one
of these statues.
Pretend I'm Miss Vinegar t*ts.
- If I did that, I might get
carried away and finish the job.
- If you do get carried away,
maybe I'll finish the job.
You want some GHB?
- No, and I'd rather you didn't.
- That's cool,
I only ever keep it for clients.
Your mate who brought me here,
he's not gonna interrupt us.
- He's waiting upstairs to drive
you home when we're done.
- And your wife?
- Very absent.
- Shame.
- You know, you really do
have a very interesting head.
I wish I could work out
why it's so familiar.
- Hmm, maybe you've
met my brother.
- Does he look like you?
- We're twins.
Be nice to me
and I'll introduce you.
- Hmm, buy one, get one free.
- Ah.
[Brett chuckles]
[playful music continues]
Pull on it.
- I'm really not into
this sort of thing.
- Oh, come on, pull on it.
I'm only here
for a couple of hours.
Don't waste it.
It's what I like.
[objects clattering]
- sh*t! I told you I didn't want
anything kinky.
[objects clattering]
f*ck!
Mark?
[Mark] You all right, Robert?
[Robert] I can't find
the light switch.
[Robert grunting]
[tense music]
- What happened?
- Oh, he had some kind of fit.
No, no, no, no, he can't be.
It was just a few seconds.
[Mark] Trust me, Robert,
I think I know.
He's broke his neck.
- No, no, no,
he really can't be.
- Robert, look at me,
this is very important, this.
He's dead.
There's nothing you can do.
You've just got
to trust me here.
Do you trust me?
Now tell me exactly
what happened.
- I, uh,
I made him a drink.
- Uh, where's the glass?
- Uh.
He put the belt
around his own neck.
I didn't do anything, Mark.
I swear I did not do a thing.
- I believe ya.
I believe ya.
- Think very carefully here.
The only people who knew this
boy was coming here tonight,
were me, you and him, yeah?
- You set it up
the same as usual?
- Yeah.
Booked him in as
if I was the client,
so no one knows
who brought him here.
For God's sake, Mark the police.
- We've got to call the police.
- Robert, the police!
- We can't really leave...
- Would anyone apart
from me believe your story?
Will Isabel
believe your story?
- What do you suggest?
- Will Isabel be away
until Sunday?
- Same as always.
- And are you expecting
any visitors tomorrow?
- Constituency chairman,
10 a.m..
- We need to get rid
of this twat tonight,
fast.
- Mark, why are you doing this?
You're not implicated.
Nobody needs to know you
arranged for him to come here.
- You're not just my boss,
Robert, you're my friend.
Look,
I don't get all this g*y stuff,
but you've been good to me.
You even campaigned
for me when I was inside.
You're the only one.
Been like a father to me.
- Older brother, I think.
- Yeah, elder brother.
- I just don't want you getting
into trouble again.
Not on my account.
- Trust me I won't,
and neither will you.
How long does it take
to fire up the oven?
- You're not serious?
Why not? You're always
making jokes about it.
- Jokes, Mark, jokes.
- How long?
15 minutes, but then
it'll be too hot to open.
- Let's get it going.
The faster we deal
with this, the better.
- This is ridiculous, Mark.
There must be another way.
The lock-up.
You always said it would
be useful to have somewhere
nobody knew about.
Well, we've never used it.
We can put him in there.
Nobody will ever find him.
I've got the only key.
- Robert, that lock-up
was taken out in my name.
I'm not taking responsibility
for what happens
when the neighbours start
to complain about the stink.
We have to be very careful here.
There's a lot of water
in the human body.
- Oh, God, yes.
Once it reaches a certain
temperature, it'll just...
- Explode.
He needs to be...
wrapped up in something.
- Yeah.
Let's get him in the rug,
it should be big enough.
What's the problem?
- Well, it's a very nice rug.
Seems a crime to destroy it.
- Strangling a teenage
boy is a crime.
What I'm asking you to do here
is burn a souvenir
of one of your c*ck weekends
in Tangiers.
- You know, Mark,
for an employee,
sometimes
you can be very familiar.
- Just get him
in the f*cking rug.
[tense music]
- It's also a very nice belt.
- Have you got some strong cord?
- Yeah. Here.
- Robert, that glass,
it'll have fingerprints
and DNA all over it.
Take it upstairs
to the kitchen.
Pour boiling water
and bleach all over it
and throw it in the bin.
While you're upstairs,
make a phone call.
- Who to?
- I don't know, anyone.
You need to behave
as normal as possible.
People don't call
their friends for a chat
when they've just
strangled someone, do they?
- Hmm.
- Call your constituency man.
What's he called?
- Uh, George.
- Call George.
- You're so clinical
about it all.
- It's the army training,
Robert.
You need someone with a clear
head to get you out of this one.
You can't even program
your own thermostat.
- I can.
I just can't be bothered to
read that section in the manual
on advanced operations.
- Turning the clock back an hour
every autumn
is hardly an advanced operation,
is it?
- I was taught never
to turn a clock backwards.
I don't see why I can't turn
it forwards 23 hours.
- Tell you what,
can we just get on with this?
- Mark.
I've never asked
you this before,
but when you were
in Afghanistan,
did you ever k*ll anyone?
- Not as far as I know.
I mean,
not close, up for sure.
Now, you tell me something.
What does it feel like?
- I don't know.
Strange.
I suspect it will get
slowly worse.
I envy your faith, Mark.
Not all the incense swinging
and rosary beads, no, no, no.
The, uh,
I suppose you'd call
it philosophical concept,
that if you can own a crime,
you can in some way
be free of it.
When I was on trial,
you remember what
my defence was?
- You didn't have a defence.
You pleaded guilty.
You never gave evidence.
- Me mates in the unit wanted me
to k*ll that prisoner.
I couldn't do it.
Sounds ridiculous now I know,
but...
I tortured him just
to avoid k*lling him.
You see,
all that incense swinging did
have an effect on me as a kid.
- Why didn't you say any of
this at your trial?
- And incriminate me mates?
I didn't blame them.
You know,
we train people to be K*llers,
and then we're surprised when
they don't know when to stop.
Loyalty, Robert.
Loyalty is everything.
Which is why I'm doing this now
for you.
Don't make George suspicious.
Chat for a few minutes,
be relaxed, yeah?
[eerie music]
Let's get to work.
[eerie music continues]
[suspenseful music]
- It's locked.
The key?
- It's in there.
[suspenseful music continues]
[Mark grunts]
[suspenseful music continues]
[fire crackling]
[Mark breathing heavily]
[Mark panting]
[eerie music]
[operatic music playing]
[operatic music continues]
[singer vocalising]
- It's very dangerous
to interrupt a soprano
mid-arpeggio.
She might rupture something.
- I have been shouting down
the stairs for five minutes.
- Oh well, I pay that gym
1,200 a year
for you to use a machine
that simulates walking up
and down the stairs.
Now you've graduated
to the real thing
I could save a fortune.
- What a shame you don't have
someone in attendance
24 hours a day,
so they can jot down
your witticisms for posterity.
- What a good idea.
I'll give Mark a notepad
and tell him to get cracking.
- As if you don't work him
hard enough already.
[glasses clinking]
Why he's stayed with you so long
is a mystery.
Is he a shirt lifter?
- What a quaint expression.
I don't think shirts have
had tails for some time now,
so lifting them
would be superfluous.
And in answer to your question,
uh, no, uh, Mark stays with me
because he's loyal.
It's a male thing,
not a q*eer thing.
In fact, most of the q*eers
I know are treacherous b*stards.
- Oh, dear.
Have you had a bad experience
with one of your bits of rough?
Did last night's boy walk
off with your wallet?
- Last night's boy didn't walk
off with anything.
- He's not still here, is he?
That's why I didn't want
to come down the stairs.
The thought of seeing
you and your catamite
rutting on the kilim.
Where is it?
- What?
- Your precious rug.
It's usually right there.
- I had an accident
with some paints,
threw it in the oven last night.
- Well, that explains the smell.
It's right through the house.
I don't know what
those Moroccans use
to dye those things,
but it smells like a meat
processing factory.
- How would you know?
The nearest you've ever come
to a meat processing factory
is Harrod's charcuterie.
Anyway, what are you doing here?
You're supposed to be in London.
You didn't forget
your keys again, did you?
You don't look as
if you've spent the night
in Saint James's Park.
- That's more your scene,
I think.
- Oh. [chuckles]
- No, I forgot my mobile.
Have you seen it?
- Can't you live
without it for 48 hours?
- Believe it or not, I have
friends who might miss me.
- Oh, the Chelsea coven.
We don't want to upset them,
do we?
I'll call it.
[ringtone "Pretender to the
Throne (Opus II)" plays]
Jesus.
Hello? Is that Isabel Marlowe?
No, this is
her husband speaking.
Isabel can't be asked
to come to the phone,
but I'll hand you over.
Hall table.
- Thank you.
And it's about time you took off
that ridiculous ringtone for me.
- I wouldn't know how to change
it any more than you do.
- Technical incompetence.
After 21 years,
we finally discover
we have something in common.
How romantic.
I'll see you Sunday evening.
- I'll put out the bunting.
- Oh, and Robert,
do open a window.
If I didn't know better,
I'd think you'd burnt
half a sheep down here.
[eerie music]
["Poor Wand'ring One" from The
Pirates of Penzance plays]
Poor Wand'ring One
Though thou hast
surely strayed
Take heart of grace
Thy steps retrace
[door buzzer buzzing]
- Bloody woman.
Poor wand'ring one!
[singer vocalising]
Use your bloody keys, woman.
[singer vocalising]
Fair days will shine
[singer vocalising]
Take heart
Ah
- You look surprised.
Oh. Come on.
Yeah, my hair's a bit different,
I'm a couple of pounds heavier,
but it shouldn't be that hard
to work out.
I'll be having that.
[sighs]
You know, I feel responsible
for my brother, you know?
So...
I always make sure he gives me
the addresses of his punters
just in case of trouble.
There's a lot of weirdos,
he used to say.
Well, one of these days I'll
end up in some cellar
and some dirty old q*eer
will cut me up
and feed me to his poodle.
And he was used
to shifty b*stards
who'd get someone else to act
as a middleman,
so he'd always send a text
when he arrived.
I got one last night
from this address.
Do you know what it's
like being a twin?
You get this
weird psychic thing.
You know when
your brother's in trouble.
Only I've not heard
from Brett in nearly 24 hours.
I don't feel anything at all.
Why might that be?
- I have no idea what
you're talking about.
[scoffs]
- No idea.
I'll give you a f*cking idea.
[Robert groans]
Do I have to cut
you to find out?
Do I?
- No, no, no, no, please,
no violence.
He came here.
- I know he came here.
What happened then?
- He...
he put a belt round his neck.
- What do you mean he put
a belt around his neck?
[tense music]
- He wanted me to choke him.
- What?
- He wanted me to choke him.
Some people get turned on
by that sort of thing.
Brett wasn't into that.
He used to say...
He used to say
it made him feel sick
some of the stuff
the punters wanted him to do.
- I swear it, I swear it,
it was an accident.
He stumbled.
He fell,
he knocked over the lamp.
I couldn't see a thing
in the dark.
By the time I got
to the light switch,
he was on the floor.
Dead.
[scoffs]
- You lying, f*cking...
Where is he?
What have you done with him?
What, in there?
You put him in there?
Is that what the smell
is round here?
Is that what it is?
The smell of my f*cking brother?
Burning in your f*cking oven.
- I had to do something.
- Turn it on.
Turn it on!
You b*stard!
[sobbing]
You sick b*stard scum!
You k*lled my brother and you
put him in your f*cking oven!
- But he was dead,
he didn't feel anything.
- Well, you're gonna feel
something
because you've got to suffer
for k*lling my brother.
Slowly.
Open it.
- No, no, please.
There's a Special Branch officer
in the garden.
- You're not important enough.
- Look, look, look.
You can see the size
of this house.
You saw the car on the drive?
I, uh, I'm not poor.
I can give you money.
[chuckling]
- Money?
For my brother's life.
[blow thuds]
[Robert groans]
[eerie music]
How much?
- I don't know, 10,000.
Uh, uh, 100,000.
- I want a million.
- I can't get that amount.
200,000.
I can get maybe 100 on Monday
and the rest
by the end of the week.
- I want it on Monday.
And no tricks.
I've left this address
with a friend.
- No tricks.
I promise.
Your middleman.
You hoping he might
burst in soon?
- There's no need
to involve him in this.
He was just doing his job.
- What's that?
Pimp?
- He's my personal assistant
and chauffeur.
The only reason
that he had to...
- Yeah, yeah.
You don't want any of
this getting into the papers.
I know who you are.
You lot are all such
f*cking hypocrites
going on about your immigrants
and your single mothers.
Meanwhile, having your sluts
and rent boys on the side.
- No, no, no, not me.
You don't hear me going
on about sexual morality.
I've got into trouble
criticising those who do.
- Then if any of them found out
about your private life,
[sucks teeth]
that'd be the end
of your career.
500,
or I go to the police.
Or, better yet, the papers.
Well, they f*cking love it.
And I know you've got it.
Let's drink to it, huh?
Cheers.
Oh.
- You little sh*t.
[blow lands]
Do you take me
for a complete idiot?
Do you think I'm what teachers
used to refer to as ESN?
Educationally subnormal?
- I have no idea what you're
talking about.
- I'm talking about you coming
to this house
with a ludicrous scheme
to extort money.
Identical twins?
Please.
- I'm Tommy,
Brett was my brother.
- And how could anyone
text this address?
The sign at the end of the lane
is overgrown with hydrangeas.
And because of who I am,
this house has no markings
at all.
Even the postmen struggle.
The nearby hedgerows
are littered with abandoned
Amazon deliveries.
You also make a remarkable guess
at what I mix with my vodka.
If ever there was an argument
against state funding
of further education,
it's that preposterous accent.
Whoever taught dialect at your
drama school ought to be shot.
I happen to come from
that neck of the woods.
And the last time I heard
a c*ck accent as bad as that,
there were chimney sweeps
dancing around the man,
singing Chim chim Cheree.
- This is the real one.
- What?
[Brett sighs]
- This is the real one,
the other one was a fake.
It was your fault
for saying I looked Irish.
- Pardon my stupidity,
but why would identical twins
speak with different accents?
- I don't know.
Separated at birth.
- Separated..?
- Yeah, raised by
foster parents.
- God help us.
- How'd you know I'm an actor?
- Because much as
I hate to admit it,
last night you had me fooled.
- Your mate wrote
a sort of script.
It was his idea to hit you up.
I'm not keen on violence.
I'm not used to it.
- And didn't your drama school
teach you how to hit people
without hurting them?
- Oh, yeah, no, I...
I didn't mean to hurt you.
Just, uh, fighting you enough
to think I was for real.
You know?
I didn't expect you to hit
me back, to be honest.
He said you was
temperamentally incapable.
- Oh, that wasn't temperament.
Just a display
of good old-fashioned
corporal punishment.
And the spit in the glass?
- Yeah. Sorry,
that was, uh.
That was me.
Spur of the moment
thing, really.
Like the Irish,
probably a bit much.
- Oh, and how much
do you expect to earn
out of this half-baked attempt
to fleece me?
- What I've said too much?
I should go.
I'm, I'm, I'm gonna go.
Um. I'm sorry
for the smack in the jaw.
I really didn't mean
to hurt you.
I promise I'm genuinely
not a violent person.
I'm just gonna leave now,
you'll...
- No, no, no, no, no, not as
simple as that.
No, no, no, no, no.
Leave and I'll call the police.
- You wouldn't dare.
- Why is that?
I didn't k*ll anybody.
The only crime here is yours.
- You're bluffing.
You wouldn't want anyone
to know about any of this.
- Oh.
Try me.
When it comes to the police,
a certain type of handshake
still works wonders.
[blade flicks]
CCTV?
How do you think I knew
you hadn't gone in the oven?
- Last night, you,
you turned it off.
I saw you.
- Correct.
But Mark made the mistake
of going out
and coming back in again,
triggering the switch.
I think we'll let
the police ask the questions.
- No, please,
I'll do whatever you want.
- Oh, my God, it's turning
into a bad porn movie.
- No, uh,
I meant I'll help you get
your own back on your mate.
- On my mate?
My mate, Mark,
to whom I gave a job
when he was unemployable
due to his notoriety.
Mark,
with whom I have shared every
secret of my personal life.
- Why is he notorious?
- Oh,
when he was about your age,
serving with the Paras,
he was convicted
of torturing an Afghan prisoner.
Cigarette burns.
Very nasty.
- What happened to him?
- Five years, out after three.
I found out the Afghan
had just shot
a local interpreter in front
of his wife and children.
So, although I didn't approve,
Mark was administering
a little instant justice.
When I gave him this job
as my PA,
my colleague said
it was professional suicide.
But I took that risk
as a matter of principle,
everyone deserves
a second chance.
Including you, young man.
Especially as you're going to
help me administer some justice
in this case.
So,
anyone else involved?
- I'm not saying anything
until I've seen a lawyer.
- Oh, don't be ridiculous.
Do you think I'm going
to hand this over to the courts?
No.
You are going to help me.
And if I'm satisfied,
you won't go away empty-handed.
And no agent's commission
to worry about.
- Your wife.
He's shagging your wife.
Oh, you don't believe me?
- Oh, I believe you.
I'm just amazed at how badly
Mark has organised everything.
You see,
the more information you had,
the more you could
pass on to me.
- You don't seem
that bothered about your wife.
[Robert scoffs]
Young man, I have
an arrangement with my wife.
She allows me my private life
and I allow her hers.
- She doesn't mind your bits
of rough trade.
[Robert scoffs]
Isabel enjoys an extremely
comfortable lifestyle
and free rein
with her paramours,
of whom Mark is not the first.
The body in the oven.
Who did Mark need dead?
- What? Oh, no one.
It was...
It was a bundle of rags.
We, uh, we wrapped it up
in the rug so you couldn't tell.
- My Moroccan kilim.
I knew there
was an aggravating factor.
Sit down.
You're not going anywhere.
And give me
that silly prop knife.
It's about as convincing
as your genius idea
of identical twins
with different accents.
Vodka with coke?
Or was that just
a little character trait,
intended to lend
artistic verisimilitude
to an otherwise bald and
unconvincing narrative?
- What?
- The Mikado.
Oh, the young man
knows his Shakespeare,
but not his Gilbert
and Sullivan.
- Because Gilbert
and Sullivan's sh*t.
- Each to his own.
My object of sublime,
I shall achieve in time
To let the punishment
fit the crime
The punishment fit the crime
And make each prisoner pent
Unwillingly represent
A source
of innocent merriment
of innocent merriment
Cheers.
- Why so cheerful?
- Because you, young man,
are going to help me deliver
a punishment to fit the crime.
- Well, what can I do?
- You can start by telling me
how you were recruited
to this ludicrous scheme.
- Um, well, I was doing a play
at the Old Brown Cow.
It's a pub theatre in Camden.
Your mate just
shows up one night,
asks if I want to
earn some money.
- He liked your acting?
- He said I was perfect
for what he needed.
- What were you appearing in,
Oliver?
- It was Lady Windermere's Fan.
- I shan't try to imagine it.
- I was very good.
- I'm sure you were.
The profile
on the escort website.
Mark showed me a screenshot.
- Oh yeah, um,
mocked up, I guess,
he's good with computers,
probably.
- But you are 18.
- Oh, it's just my playing age.
I play younger parts
because I look younger
on stage with lighting.
I'm actually 19.
- So what was your agreement?
- To do exactly
what happened last night
and come here tonight,
spook you and demand the money.
- Which would be shared
three ways?
- I was going to get 20%.
more of an incentive to push
for the half mil, I suppose.
- Did you ever get
to meet my darling wife?
- No. What's she like?
- Oh, very beautiful
and very entertaining,
when she chooses.
Fact is, I'm rather fond of her.
- But, no sex.
- Christ, no.
- Oh,
you must have fancied her once.
- No.
Funnily enough,
she did fancy me.
Thought she might convert me.
Sad.
- So you never...
- Made the beast with two backs?
On the wedding night,
I got very drunk
and consummated the union
just for the hell of it.
21 years ago,
still gives me the shudders.
- I bet she was surprised.
- I thought she'd be pleased,
but she knew
it was purely mechanical.
Said it made her feel dirty,
so I was spared the horror
of ever having to repeat
the experience.
That was the first
and only time.
- So you are a bisexual, then?
- How'd you make that out?
- You've slept with a woman?
I've been up the Eiffel Tower,
it doesn't make me a Frenchman,
it makes me a tourist.
Tourism, by the way,
is her line of work.
She's a travel journalist.
Takes her out of the country
for a few months every year,
which suits us both perfectly.
She's never been a real
constituency wife.
More of a long-term alibi.
- So why stay married?
I mean, no one cares about your
lot being politicians nowadays.
- No, but they expect you to be
either chaste
or in some ghastly
male marriage,
sexless or fully domesticated
like a neutered Jack Russell.
Weekly liaison with
representatives
of the angels
with dirty faces agency
is hardly a vote winner.
- What happens if you fall
for one of them?
Want him to move in?
- Emotional intimacy
with an escort?
Unlikely.
No, as you observed last night,
for me, it's really just
a mildly erotic game of chess.
- Where the Queen
has all the advantages.
- Very good.
No, I think the closest I've
ever been to emotional intimacy
was probably last night,
when I believed Mark
was risking everything
to save my skin.
What a c**t.
So how does the timing
of all this work?
He told me he was driving
straight down
to the coast last night.
- Oh, yeah, that was just so
he'd have a bullshit excuse
for taking so long to show up,
in case you found a way
to call him while I was here.
He won't show up
until I text him
saying everything's
gone to plan.
And what's your plan?
I mean, I ain't got your money,
why don't you just sack him
and ditch the wife.
- And rob myself of the chance
to make them both suffer?
Oh, no.
And divorce means alimony.
And I think we can come up
with something
a little more imaginative
than servicing her
Harvey Nichols account
for the next 20 years.
- Well, now what?
- I don't know,
but it needs
to be something special.
Something spectacular.
Like the Bishop of Arethusa
smothered in honey.
- Don't sound too bad.
- And then hung in a basket
in the noonday sun
to be stung to death by wasps.
- And your wife?
- Leave her to heaven.
- And to those thorns
that in her bosom lodge.
- You've not taken into account
that thorns
can be very dangerous
if placed too close
to silicone implants.
Funnily enough, the Greeks
had a punishment for adultery
that would have been
rather appropriate.
Rolled down a hill
in a barrel full of spikes.
- Seems a bit excessive.
- Yes, it does, I suppose,
on the face of it.
But then I think of that rather
sad case in the 18th century,
when a poor chap
was sentenced to hang for theft,
and he said,
"Oh, you think it
a terrible thing, my lord,
to hang for the
stealing of a horse?"
To which the judge replied,
"Young man, you are not to hang
for the stealing of a horse.
You are to hang so
that horses may not be stolen."
- I thought you didn't agree
with capital punishment.
- I don't,
but that's because
I don't trust juries
to get it right
in every instance.
However
in this case,
I think we can be sure
of the facts.
Can't we?
- What do you mean?
- Well, I've only got your word
for a lot of this.
- Oh, you said you saw
it on CCTV last night.
- Yes, but there could be
various explanations.
Blackmail isn't the only one.
- Why else would we do it?
- The body.
How do I know it was just
a bundle of rags?
I mean, look pretty convincing.
- Yeah, I mean, if it didn't,
there'd be no point.
I made it myself.
It was a bundle of rags.
- A very heavy bundle of rags.
- Yeah, I stuffed it with,
I don't know,
bits of wood and old bones.
We thought it would look good
if something survived the oven.
- And you assumed
I wouldn't know the difference
between a human femur
and a KFC family bucket.
What if it wasn't
a bundle of rags?
- But it was,
I've just told you.
- I believe you.
But what if it wasn't?
- I don't follow.
- What if you simply told Mark
that it was a bundle of rags,
but it was, in fact,
a real body.
- Why would I bring a real
corpse here in Mark's boot?
- Because you've
m*rder*d someone,
And Mark has given
you the perfect way
to dispose of the body.
- Oh, yeah,
but I haven't k*lled anyone.
I haven't done anything.
- I know, I know.
But what if you had?
Don't you see?
You haven't already
k*lled someone,
but when you knew
that you could send the evidence
up someone else's chimney,
you couldn't resist.
It's like I said last night,
all it takes is a little push.
- Right, so you want
to make Mark believe
that he helped you get rid
of a m*rder victim, for real?
- Exactly.
And that you have somehow
implicated him in the m*rder.
Got him to...
handle the m*rder weapon,
perhaps.
Yes, it's brilliant.
It's brilliant.
My object of sublime
I shall achieve in time
To let the punishment
fit the crime
Oh, my God, they should make...
- Yeah, hang on,
slow down a second.
I'm not following you.
- Look, it's quite simple.
We make Mark believe
that he has been an accomplice
in a real k*lling.
But...
you've planted evidence
to frame him for the m*rder.
If there's one thing
that terrifies Mark,
it's the thought
of going back to prison.
He'd sooner die.
He gets claustrophobic if he
spends ten minutes in this room.
[bright orchestral music]
Let's give him a taste
of his own medicine.
Make the b*stard sweat.
- So I want to k*ll someone,
and these two idiots come along
and accidentally give
me the perfect way
to get rid of a body?
I mean, it's not likely, is it?
- It's a damn sight more likely
than identical twins
with different accents
and remarkably similar footwear.
- Oh, sh*t!
- You thought I'd be so
mesmerised by your pretty face,
I wouldn't notice.
- Yeah, but I've only
got the other pair,
and they don't work
with this outfit.
A blackmailer
with an acute fashion sense.
- What if he comes after me?
And if he's the sort of nutter
who tortures people
with cigarette burns,
he's not going to be happy
if he thinks I've run
off with his money
and fingered him for a m*rder.
- Let me explain something.
Mark is as incapable of m*rder
as I am.
t*rture may be, but not m*rder.
You see, he believes in hell.
- Oh, well,
that's just fantastic, isn't it?
He's not going to k*ll me,
just t*rture me.
I'm not risking it.
- Look.
I'll make a deal.
[bright orchestral
music continues]
I'll keep him in the dark
for six months.
During which time he and Isabel
will suffer every minute
of their waking lives,
just like I did.
Convinced that at any moment,
either I or the police
will discover
everything they've done,
and more besides.
At the end of six months,
I'll tell them everything
and they'll have been
adequately punished.
I'll divorce Isabel,
but she won't dare come after me
for any money.
Meanwhile,
you could have been on a nice
long holiday somewhere.
One of those places
young men your age go to
drink large quantities of Rioja
and vomit in the streets.
- Okay.
Okay, so...
So how do we make him
think I've k*lled someone
when I haven't?
Who have I m*rder*d?
- Whom?
Indeed.
Whom have you m*rder*d?
- Oh.
Ooh.
Oh, that's good.
[Brett laughs]
Oh, that's brilliant!
Staring us right in the face.
I've m*rder*d myself.
- This is becoming
a little too existential.
- No, no, no, think about it.
I wanted to start
a new life somewhere,
fake my own death.
- Why?
- I don't know, maybe I've got
people chasing me for money.
It doesn't matter.
The point is,
these two idiots come along
and give me the chance to do it.
Leave a trail of evidence
enough to convince the police.
- What sort of evidence?
- Evidence to point to them.
I've already got loads
of stuff on my phone.
Mark's phone number,
his address.
His name, not yours.
There's no evidence
I've ever been here
or that we've met at any time,
is there?
- The security footage.
So no one needs
to know about it.
Delete it.
[bright orchestral
music continues]
- I think I follow.
Mark employed you to play
the role of a m*rder victim,
but we concoct evidence
to make the police believe
it really happened.
And that Mark did it.
- No, no, no, Mark k*lled me.
You've got nothing
to do with it.
We've never met.
The police will arrest him
for my m*rder,
and his only defence will be
to confess to the blackmail
and incriminate your wife,
and I'm guessing she's not going
to back him up.
Either way he's f*cked.
- One moment.
You're suggesting I actually
let Mark spend time in prison
for a m*rder
that never happened?
- Well, why not?
You gave a second chance
to a convicted thug,
he betrayed your trust.
- He did.
- I can come back to life
whenever you think
they've suffered enough.
Turn up some evidence
to show I'm not really dead
or just waltz in and wonder
what all the fuss is about,
but you decide when.
The public will be on your side.
If your missus decides
to stick up for her paramour
and admit to everything,
the tabloids will brand
her with a big B for b*tch
and you'll be a national hero.
Plus, she'll do time
for the blackmail.
- Which is why
she won't say anything.
Two years in pokey,
not an attractive proposition.
They can smuggle in heroin,
but not Botox.
- Think about it.
I'm reported missing.
The police go through my flat,
find my phone with
my conversation with Mark on it.
My photos on his laptop,
and you and I have never met
or been seen
in each other's company.
And Mark spends up
to a year on remand
for a m*rder he never committed.
[bright orchestral
music continues]
- You evil little b*stard.
- Meanwhile, I've just
innocently gone abroad
without telling anyone.
Yeah, I could come back
before it goes to trial, but...
You'll have spent months
in hell.
- I've always fancied spending
some time in Australia,
but I'll need proper money
if we do it this way.
I'd have to give up acting
for the duration.
- They'll be weeping
in the streets.
And we need a motive.
Why has he k*lled you?
There can't be a m*rder
without a motive.
- Well, it's simple.
I've run off with a bunch
of his money.
But it's not blackmail,
it's burglary.
He gave me your keys.
Combination to your safe.
- Mark doesn't have it,
and I don't keep
that much cash in it anyway.
- Yeah, but no one
needs to know that.
- And then you write to me,
naming him as the man
who planned it all.
- Why would I do that?
- Oh, a criminal
with a conscience.
You don't want
to forgo the money.
But you didn't think
I deserved to be duped
by a man that I thought
to be my best friend.
I think it best
if it goes to my office
at the House of Commons.
That way Isabel
can't intercept it.
That's House of Commons,
London, SW1A 0AA.
And now the letter.
Dated.
Dear Mr. Marlowe.
- All a bit formal, isn't it?
- A bit formal?
This letter isn't being composed
by your pikey twin.
- How about, Dear Robert,
I feel as though I have a
personal relationship with you,
having just relieved
you of a lot of cash.
- Articulate but impertinent,
Good.
Um, I think, I think robbed
rather than relieved.
It's less ambiguous.
- All right. Give me a minute.
- It's a shame
you have to go away.
I think you'd make a better PA
than Mark.
My object all sublime
I shall achieve in time
To let the punishment
fit the crime
The punishment fit the crime
And make each prisoner pent
[mumbling] represent
Our source
of innocent merriment
Of innocent merriment
Have you got anything
with your address on it
that I can plant in Mark's flat?
- Uh, yeah.
I've got my driving licence.
- Perfect.
And what you said
about your phone diary,
was that true?
You did log Mark's
initial contact with you
in the meeting
with him last night?
- Yep.
- And there's no mention of me?
- Nope.
- Or this house?
- No.
- No mention of me,
this house or any meeting?
- If you don't believe me,
have a look at it yourself.
- Uh-uh.
Fingerprints.
[Robert humming cheerily]
[church bells in background]
[Robert humming cheerily]
[Robert singing cheerily]
Perfect.
[Robert singing cheerily]
Need you to bring my money.
Console yourself
with the thought
they haven't seen a penny of it.
Very good.
I tell you what, just add,
I can see why
he likes your wife.
[Brett scoffs]
She's very good in bed.
- Divide and rule, huh?
- Actually, my motto has always
been divide and divide again.
Sign it,
and put it in the envelope.
[church bells continue ringing]
[pen scribbling]
Young man, I couldn't
have done it better myself.
Right!
Blankets for a body
and cord to tie it up.
- Hang on a second.
You're clearly
not understanding the plan.
If all the evidence points
to Mark and I vanish,
there's no need for a fake body.
And if I've written to you
confessing a burglary,
I can't exactly walk back in in
six months and act all innocent.
- You're absolutely right.
[Brett grunts]
[tense music]
Sorry!
I tried to make this as painless
as possible,
[Brett sobbing]
but bear in mind.
I've not done it before.
[Brett gasping]
[Brett screams]
[tense music continues]
[Brett breathing heavily]
[music intensifies]
[Brett screams]
[Brett gasping]
Bom bom bom bom
bom bom bom bom
bom bom bom bom Ah.
- Ah!
- I really do feel bad
about this.
[Brett gasping]
["Poor Wand'ring One" from The
Pirates of Penzance plays]
Would a cigarette help?
[Brett coughing]
Take any heart, but ours
Take heart,
fair days will shine
Take any heart, take mine
Take heart, no danger low'rs
Take any heart but ours
Take heart,
fair days will shine
Take any heart, take mine
Ah!
Ah!
Ah!
Ah!
[singer vocalising]
[Brett coughing and gasping]
Ah!
[Brett gasping]
Ah!
[muffled screams]
Poor wand'ring one
Though thou hast
surely strayed
Take heart of grace
Thy steps retrace
Poor
[Brett grunting]
Wandering one
[Brett gasping]
[singer vocalising]
[Brett coughing and gasping]
I won't be a minute.
Try not to move.
It only makes things worse.
Pom pom pom pom.
[Brett gasping]
[singer vocalising]
[Brett coughing]
Take any heart
[singer vocalising]
Take mine
Take heart, no danger lowr's
Take any heart but ours
[singer vocalising]
[singer vocalising]
[Brett grunts]
[Brett panting]
It's hard, I know.
And it must seem unfair.
But it's necessary.
[Brett grunting]
- Why?
Sobered horses
may not be stolen.
[singer vocalising]
[Brett gagging]
[singer vocalising]
[music ends]
[oven rumbling]
- Are you sure he's dead?
- He'd said he knew what
had happened to his brother.
He hit me quite hard.
He dragged me over here and
tried to shove me in the oven.
Scissors were lying about,
I just grabbed them.
- You k*lled the boy
with the pair of scissors?
- Mark, what is wrong with you?
Last night you knew
exactly what to do
and now you're behaving as if
you've never seen
a dead body before.
- I just need to know exactly
what happened, that's all.
- He tried to k*ll me,
I stabbed him, it was horrible.
- How did he react?
- Well,
he didn't seem too pleased.
Oh, I see what you mean.
Um, he did mumble something.
He...
He told me you wouldn't hurt me.
- Was that all?
- Mark, why are you asking
all these questions?
A boy is dead.
We've got to shift him.
- Do you know what
a mortal sin is, Robert?
- Yes.
One that guarantees
a one-way ticket to hell.
- A boy is dead.
- This is irrelevant.
If there's a sin, it's mine.
So why don't you just say
an extra Hail Mary for me?
I mean, it's not as if you're
in any way responsible
for his death.
Well. Are you?
- No.
Well, [sighs]
it's no different to last night,
then, is it?
Only this time there is blood.
Perhaps that's it.
Yes?
- Yeah. You're right.
It's probably the blood.
- So just close your eyes
and get on with it.
[phone ringing]
- Oh, don't you think
you should answer that?
Behave as normal.
[phone ringing]
- It's not mine.
[phone ringing]
- Let it ring out.
[phone ringing]
We should check to see
if there's a message.
He might have told someone
he was coming here.
- What is it?
- We understand you've recently
been involved in an accident.
Sorry.
Come on, Mark.
- Robert,
this has to be the last time.
- What?
- This has to be the last time.
- The last time?
What are you talking about?
You're not suggesting
there might be triplets.
- I'm saying
it has to end somewhere,
and it ends tonight
after we burn this body.
- I am not intending
to troll the streets
looking for more victims,
like Jack the Ripper.
What are you staring at?
- He just moved.
- He's been dead for two hours.
He's lost more
than five pints of blood.
The duvet is the only thing
that's holding his guts
in place.
Get him in the bloody oven.
[Mark grunting]
Pick that up.
Can't afford
to leave any evidence.
[oven rumbling]
- Couldn't even afford
a decent pair of socks.
- Do you want
to give him the last rites?
Come on!
[Mark grunting]
[body sliding]
- Oh my God!
He's alive!
For Christ's sake,
Robert, he's alive!
Call an ambulance!
- Call an ambulance?
Are you mad?
[door closes]
He's not going to survive.
And if he did, what then?
Apart from attempted m*rder,
there's the actual m*rder
of his brother last night.
And your concealment of a body.
Do you want
to go back to prison?
Do you?
He can't be allowed to talk,
Mark.
He can't be allowed to talk.
[oven whirring]
[tense music]
[oven clanking]
[clanking noises intensify]
[silence]
[Mark retches]
[Mark groans]
[Robert humming]
Drink it.
- You know I don't drink.
- If it's any consolation,
the shock wears off eventually.
I've been through
all this twice, don't forget.
Last night
and again with this one.
- You didn't k*ll him.
- What?
- The second time,
the second boy wasn't dead.
I've just k*lled him,
just now.
- No, but I...
I thought I'd k*lled him,
that's the point.
I believed I had.
- You didn't seem
too upset about it.
- Perhaps because k*lling
that boy last night
changed something in me.
Once you've k*lled,
the ease with
which you can contemplate
the most depraved acts
is frightening.
Why did you come back?
- What?
- Why did you come back?
You said you were going
to spend the weekend
down on the coast.
- I know, I was just
worried about you
after what happened last night.
Why didn't you just call me
when he threatened you?
- Oh, he threw
my phone somewhere.
I thought he'd cut the landline,
but in fact, he'd just taken
the phone off the receiver
in the hall on the way down.
[phone ringing]
And this time it is yours,
I think.
[phone ringing]
Why did you do that?
- It's not important.
- That was Isabel's number.
Why is she calling you?
- No idea.
- But you said
it wasn't important.
[phone ringing]
[phone ringing]
Hello?
Just talking about you,
Mark.
It's been here ten minutes.
Oh, no, I must have
turned it off.
Yes, yes, I did it this morning.
All right, all right.
See you tomorrow.
Bye.
Just ringing to check
that I'd taken her suit
to the dry cleaners.
When she couldn't reach me
on my mobile,
she tried yours so you could
pass on the message.
So, mystery solved.
Good idea.
I'll have one, too.
Nice to see you drinking again.
- Nearly a year
have been on the wagon.
What's the point?
Cheers.
- Cheers.
As you know, I've never
trusted men who don't drink.
But then you did drink
when we first met.
- Like a fish.
- Hmm.
I wonder if fish do drink.
Not sure that expression
makes much sense.
I mean, drunk as a lord, yes.]
Uh, sober as a judge,
presumably ironic.
Oh,
on the wagon.
Do you know the origin
of that one?
- No, but I've got a feeling
you're about to tell me.
- Oh, in the good old days
of public executions,
when a man was taken
to Tyburn to be hanged,
the cart would always stop first
at Saint Giles Church,
where the poor wretch was taken
off the cart
and given a pint of ale.
That was his last drink,
after which he was put
back on the wagon.
So...
So why did you say Isabel's
call wasn't important?
I don't know, I just...
I didn't want
to speak to anyone.
I didn't even see her number
come up, to be honest,
I just rejected it
without looking at it.
- Perhaps we should delete
something else.
- What?
- First boy, Brett.
- What about him?
- The computer record.
- Of what?
- For God's sake, Mark,
of you visiting the escort
website and booking him.
- I didn't do it directly
through the site, did I,
he called me.
Some boy gave him your number,
one of the lads
you saw ages ago.
When he called I looked
up his profile on the site
and took a screenshot for you.
Well, he wanted to avoid
paying any agency fees.
But that's worse.
Don't you see?
Whoever gave him your number
must know about me.
Who was it?
- He didn't say.
- There's something else
bothering me
about that first boy,
I can't quite
put my finger on it.
I mean,
was he even a real escort?
Should we check on the website?
- Are you mad?
I don't want to log
onto that site
from a computer
in this house.
I'll check for you later.
- What about this?
There should be a number stored
on that boy's phone
from whoever tried
to call him earlier.
It could be whoever put him
in touch with you.
- What is it?
- It's Isabel.
- Oh, what are you
talking about?
- It's Isabel's number.
- Don't be silly.
Why would Isabel be calling him?
She didn't know him.
- Well, clearly she did.
Why would she be calling
him Mark?
Why would she be calling someone
who came here today to k*ll me?
Unless...
she's in some way involved.
- Hang on.
Isabel involved in what?
An attempt to m*rder you?
Don't be ridiculous.
- No, no, no, listen.
Maybe he wasn't intending
to k*ll me,
What was it he said?
He told me
you wouldn't hurt me.
What if it wasn't just Isabel?
What if there's
someone else involved?
- Who?
- I don't know,
but maybe they just used him
as a frontman.
- Who?
- Isabel and her fancy man.
- Are you saying Isabel's
having an affair with someone?
- Don't look so shocked, Mark.
I don't expect Isabel
to be celibate.
- You mean she's
had other lovers?
- Isabel has had more members
between her thighs
than my party currently
has in Parliament.
She and her lover employ
some gullible lout
to come here today
and threaten me
as a prelude to blackmail.
- That doesn't make any sense.
I mean, how would they find
someone who looked
just like the first boy?
- They didn't.
There's only one boy.
- What do you mean,
only one boy?
We k*lled the first one,
we burned his body last night.
- But what if we didn't?
What if we burned someone else
or something else.
- Like what?
- Like...
a bundle of rags stuffed
with bits of wood and old bones
to add corroborative detail
to an otherwise
bald and unconvincing narrative.
I've, I have just noticed
the irony of that quotation.
Do you know the Mikado, Mark?
A timid man is appointed
public executioner,
but he can't bring himself
to do the job,
so his friends
all swear affidavits
that he has ex*cuted
a young criminal.
[tense music]
But it's a fiction.
- When did you know?
- When I woke up this morning,
I realised there'd be
CCTV of Brett,
so I checked the footage.
You were on it.
[tense music continues]
You'd made the mistake
of going out through that door
and coming back in again.
At first, I couldn't quite
work it out.
But then we had the farce
of that poor young actor
coming here and pretending
to be identical twins.
He made the mistake
of wearing the same shoes,
and knowing exactly
how I mix my vodka.
- So you knew everything
by the time I arrived?
- I wondered how long it would
be before your nerve cracked
and you showed up.
I imagined you sitting
in a lay-by and sweating.
- And then you put
me through this?
This charade?
For f*ck's sake, Robert,
what kind of f*cking nutcase
are you?
- You had to be punished, Mark.
You made me believe
I'd taken a human life.
Now you know what
that feels like.
And you plan to extort money
and run off with my wife.
- You don't love her.
- Oh, her adultery
is neither here nor there.
It was the fact she chose you.
- She didn't choose me,
I chose her.
[Robert scoffs]
- I suppose you expect
me to believe
you came up with the plot.
Sorry, I took her to see
that thriller in the West End
20 years ago.
Only then there wasn't such
a lot of grotesque play-acting.
- Play-acting?
That's a good one.
You spent the last
15 minutes convincing me
that the boy had been stabbed
and I was burning him alive.
Getting him to wriggle
a bit was a nice touch.
Oh, yeah.
That way I couldn't think he
was just another bundle of rags.
You are one f*cking sick
b*stard, you, Robert,
do you know that?
How did you fake
the oven, Robert?
Pull the fuses out so
when I turned it on,
the gas wouldn't ignite?
Set up a tape recorder
with the sound of flames?
Am I right?
[oven rumbling]
You k*lled him.
You f*cking k*lled him
for real.
- No, Mark, you did it.
- You're insane.
You burned them alive.
- Mark,
you really must learn
to take responsibility
for your own actions.
- What have they done
to deserve this?
- Nothing.
It was you who had no qualms
about corrupting a relatively
innocent young man.
The punishment is for you.
You...
You start
by betraying your friend
and end up committing
your ultimate sin
and now must face
the consequences.
- And what have you got planned
for Isabel, hey?
Some stupid punishment for
adultery from Ancient Greece,
sewn into a sack with a wild
animal and thrown into the sea.
- Very good, Mark.
Funnily enough,
the Greeks believed
that the greatest of crimes
such as the m*rder of a mistress
was, paradoxically,
its own punishment.
It's all there
in those ghastly plays.
The...
m*rder*r usually goes doolally
and, hounded by the Furies,
does himself in.
- No, no, no, no, no.
That was the boy I saw.
- What did you see, Mark?
- [stuttering] The shoes,
the trainers, it was him.
Stop playing these games,
Robert,
You've had your fun,
this is getting
f*cking twisted now.
It can't be, Isabel.
It can't be her.
You've just spoke
to her a minute ago.
I had a missed call from her.
She even f*cking phoned him,
Do you want me to call her now
and tell her what you've done?
Fine.
[phone ringing]
[ringtone "Pretender to the
Throne (Opus II)" plays]
- Hello.
Do keep up, Mark.
I made both those calls.
The one to Brett
and the one to you,
from Isabel's phone.
Easy to do with stored numbers.
Just reach into the pocket
and press the right button.
Oh, and the one to the landline.
I think that was a particularly
good bit of acting.
- This is some trick.
- You know the number
at Dolphin Square.
Why don't you give her a call?
[phone ringing]
[Voicemail] You've reached the
voicemail of Dolphin Square.
- Voicemail?
Surely, you're supposed to be
meeting her there this evening.
- You wouldn't k*ll her.
- You keep saying that, Mark.
But I watched as you pushed her
struggling body into the oven.
- You stabbed her?
- Actually, no.
- Well there was blood
everywhere.
- Vegetable dye.
Forensics
wouldn't find anything.
She had to die.
But you had to perform
the coup de grce.
[fire roars]
Brett texted Isabel,
or rather I did,
from Brett's phone.
[tense music]
She was very obedient.
When the poor dear arrived,
she could barely conceal
her confusion.
I made her a drink.
Apparently,
GHB tastes like rat poison,
so it's very difficult
to disguise the taste.
Isabel's craving
for Angostura bitters
proved rather convenient.
Before she passed out,
I told her everything.
I thought it only fair.
[tense music continues]
It was easy
to slip her little feet
into Brett's socks and shoes.
Her waking up at the last minute
was an unexpected bonus.
Guaranteed, you would know
for sure
it wasn't just another
bundle of rags.
- Tell me you haven't
done this, Robert,
tell me this is just
some f*cking trick or something.
Why didn't you find a way
to k*ll me?
Why is it, man?
- Because I've got something
much better for you.
Or worse,
depending on your perspective.
- I've just k*lled
the woman I love.
What can be worse than that?
- You haven't shown much
interest in your young protg,
Brett.
Brother of Tommy.
- Well, I assume you just let
him off scot-free.
I mean, you always were
a sucker for a pretty face.
- True, but there are limits,
and I didn't think you'd
been adequately punished.
- So?
- That's a new belt
you're wearing, Mark.
- Not new,
just not the one I usually wear.
- Why is that?
- I don't know, why are you
asking me this.
- Did you lose it, perhaps?
- Mislaid it, maybe,
I don't know.
- You lost it.
You left it behind
several weeks ago in my bedroom,
after one of your sessions
with my wife.
- You've known for weeks?
- No.
I never dreamed it was you.
I only found out today.
You betrayed me
with my wife in my bed.
- You haven't shared a bed
since your wedding night.
- 21 years ago.
Which makes
it all the more sickening
that you felt it necessary
to use my bedroom and not hers.
Did she get more excited at
the thought of humiliating me?
Did you?
- You didn't love her.
You can't feel normal
human emotions, Robert,
everyone knows that.
- Do you think
I could be doing this
if my emotions
weren't driving me?
- You are driven by an obsessive
need to control Robert.
That's all that matters to you.
People have their own lives.
I have my own life.
- I think that's where
you'll find you're wrong.
Are you...
you still haven't asked
about our young actor friend.
- For f*ck's sake.
I'm sick of these f*cking games.
Just tell me, where is he?
- He's in the Mercedes,
in the lock-up.
Your lock-up.
You always said it would
come in useful one day.
- So you've k*lled him as well?
- You keep saying these things
that don't make any sense, Mark.
You k*lled Isabel.
You k*lled Brett.
- What are you talking about?
- Have a drink.
- Don't want to drink it.
- You don't mind if I do?
It's quite a story.
There never
was a blackmail plot.
I've got nothing
to be blackmailed over.
I've never met a rent boy.
And I certainly never
met the one who you think
came here last night?
No, you and Isabel
planned to take money from
my safe and run off together.
- You don't keep any money
in your safe.
- Oh, didn't you know?
I keep a stash of banknotes
and some krugerrands.
- Don't talk rubbish.
- No, listen,
it all makes perfect sense.
You and Isabel
employ an outsider
so that nothing can point
to either of you.
But the outsider got greedy
and attempted to make
off with the entire haul,
and Isabel.
His number is in her phone.
And you see it.
What are they playing at?
You fear the worst.
- No one will believe that,
he was only a boy.
He was 19,
and stranger things
have been known.
I mean, he was quite
good-looking after all.
So, in a fit of jealous rage,
you k*ll Isabel
and burn her body in the oven.
Brett gets a slightly
different treatment.
You drive him to the lockup,
where you use
the t*rture technique
for which you're best known.
Cigarette burns.
You stab him,
but he doesn't die.
So you finish him off by
strangling him with your belt.
Your prints are on it.
Very careless to leave it
around his throat.
Are you following all this?
- So there's a belt.
Where's the rest
of the evidence?
- There's a record
in Brett's phone
of your number and address.
And best of all, I think you'll
be very impressed with this,
in a few days time,
a letter will arrive
at the Commons
in Brett's handwriting,
uh,
he was going to give me only 20%
for doing all the work.
So I buggered off with the lot.
And I can see why
he likes your wife.
She's very good in bed.
Wrote exactly what was needed
with very little prompting.
I...
I tucked a few strands
of hair from Isabel's brush
into his collar
for good measure,
and I rubbed his sad little
socks on Isabel's bedsheets,
so there should be a DNA trace.
- All this is what lawyers would
just call circumstantial.
- True.
And a good barrister
might persuade a jury
that the belt was planted.
- So none of this
would stand up in court.
It's corroborative detail.
- You're absolutely right.
- You do know the whole thing
could easily be bounced back
at you, don't you?
You need hard,
physical evidence.
- Like security footage
of you coming down those steps
with a body wrapped in a rug
[eerie music]
and only just in shot
because of the angle
of the camera,
but we do see you putting
the body in the oven.
I'm just out of shot.
Very fortunate.
So...
I never met the boy.
There never
was a blackmail plot.
Just a burglary
and two very ugly murders.
- It's the wrong date.
- What?
- It's the wrong date,
on the security footage,
it shows me coming down
those stairs yesterday.
People will have seen
us about since then,
they'll know I can't be here.
Can't change the date
on those things
after the film's been shot.
So it can't be a body
I'm carrying.
You think you're so f*cking
clever, you, don't you, Robert?
Hey?
No one can pull one
over you, can they
Well, you made a mistake
in your calculations.
You said it yourself,
all the other evidence
could have been planted.
That footage is the only thing
what would have
guaranteed a conviction
and you screwed it up.
Know your limitations, Robert.
You can't deal with anything
technical or mechanical.
- You're absolutely right.
I can't even set the timer
on my own thermostat.
I really should replace
this old security system.
I understand the new ones like
we have in the rest of the house
never need adjusting, so idiots
like me can't mess them up
when the clocks go back
in the autumn.
Out by exactly 23 hours.
I've sorted it now.
Just needed the right incentive
to read the manual.
That's for you.
Don't worry,
it's not counterfeit.
That's not the point.
There's about 100,000 there.
I won't report Isabel
missing for a few days.
You'll have had time
to get to the airport
and fly off somewhere nice.
Maybe you haven't k*lled her.
Maybe you've just
run off together.
- Hang on a minute.
You've set this whole scheme up
to frame me for two murders
and a robbery,
And now you're giving me money
to go away?
- Well, I never said I'd show
Brett's letter to the police,
did I?
No reason for me
to check the security footage
unless I choose to.
The body in the lockup
might never be found.
- I'll just repeat everything
you've told me to the police.
- But you won't.
Because either way,
you would spend
rather a lot of time in prison.
Disposal of a m*rder victim
can get you up to life.
I shall expect a message
from you in a couple of months
to let me know where you are.
And I'll send you a small
allowance from time to time.
- Two people have died here.
You didn't hate them.
You've k*lled them for the sole
purpose of punishing me
and now you want me to go away
and you'll send me money?
Why?
- This is your punishment, Mark.
Tailor-made,
bespoke retribution.
You've k*lled the woman you love
and brought about the death of
a relatively innocent young man.
It's that one-way ticket
to hell.
And I know enough
about your religion
to know that absolution
comes at a price.
And part of that price would be
telling everything
to the police.
You'll spend the rest
of your life
looking over your shoulder,
wondering who you can trust.
So rather like hell,
it's an indefinite sentence.
Detained
at His Majesty's pleasure.
Judas
had the option of suicide.
But I gather your lot
aren't too keen.
Never mind.
You still get to keep
the 30 pieces of silver.
- Do you think this money
will bind me to you in some way?
[Robert scoffs]
- No, Mark, no.
Guilt...
guilt is the glue
that binds us now.
- My affair with Isabel
wasn't to spite you.
I loved her.
- I loved you, Mark.
Like the son I never had.
Stay in touch.
- Robert, the Mikado.
Remind me what happens again.
- What?
- Remind me.
- The Mikado.
The Emperor of Japan
is disappointed
at the lack of executions.
So the timid
executioner pretends
to have cut the head
off a young criminal.
- Then what happens?
- It all goes horribly wrong.
Sound familiar?
The young man turns out
to be the son of the emperor,
so the executioner
has to be punished.
Something lingering, says
the Mikado with boiling oil.
[Mark chuckles]
- What's so funny?
- You said before you hadn't
shared a bed with Isabel
since your wedding night.
- Once was more than enough.
- Oh, it was Robert.
It certainly was.
- I've never said otherwise.
- It only takes the once.
The once to produce a child.
- Isabel never had a child.
- I want you to think
back all those years.
About four months
after you were married,
Isabel got a contract
working abroad.
Don't you remember?
- You're saying she had my child
in secret?
- She detested you, Robert.
She didn't want your baby,
and she didn't want
you to know about it.
- She had it aborted.
- She had it adopted.
Made sure the foster parents
got a reasonable allowance
and never saw the kid again.
And they were sworn
never to tell him anything
about his mother.
But Isabel followed him
through school
and college from a distance,
and she went to see him in some
awful show in a pub theatre.
I went the next night
and spoke to him afterwards,
and he jumped at the chance
of earning some good money.
- Nice try, Mark.
Nice try.
The dates don't add up.
Brett was 19.
Isabel wasn't an elephant.
If I had a son, he'd be aged 21.
- Honestly, Robert,
you can be very naive sometimes.
When was the last time an actor
gave his real age to anyone?
You'll find a copy
of the adoption papers
in Isabel's flat.
Bedroom drawer.
[door opens]
We never told him
you were his father.
He might have liked you.
[door closes]
[Robert sobbing]
[Robert screams]
My object all sublime
I shall achieve in time
To let the punishment
fit the crime
The punishment fit the crime
And make each prisoner pent
Unwillingly represent
A source
of innocent merriment
Of innocent merriment
His object all sublime
He will achieve in time
To get the punishment
fits the crime
The punishment fit the crime
And make each prisoner pent
Unwillingly represent
A source
of innocent merriment
Of innocent merriment
The advertising quack
who wearies
With tales
of countless cures
His teeth, I've enacted,
Shall all be extracted
By terrified amateurs
The music-hall singer
attends a series
Of masses
and fugues and 'ops'
By Bach, interwoven
With Spohr and Beethoven,
At classical Monday Pops
The billiard-sharp
whom anyone catches
His doom's extremely hard
He's made to dwell
in a dungeon cell
On a spot
that's always barred
And there he plays
extravagant matches
In fitless finger-stalls
On a cloth untrue
With a twisted cue
And elliptical
billiard ba*ls
Ah!
[screeching
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Executioner (2024)
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